Love-Hate Relationship
by elev
Summary: The first time Leon meets Samantha Shaw, Leon is tied to the bed.


_Note: For TimelessDreamer2 on Ao3._

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The first time Leon meets Samantha Shaw, Leon is tied to the bed.

The evening starts out pretty good, really, it does. Cindy, or Mindy, or whatever her name is, chats with him over a romantic candle-lit dinner, only there aren't any candles, because the last time there'd been candles, Leon had managed to ignite his shirt, and this dinner wasn't exactly _romantic,_ because Leon had insisted on cooking and had ended up setting a loaf of broad on fire, and so they were eating soup, some sort of chowder—at least, that's what it was supposed to be, but it was hard to tell, because Leon had almost set the soup on fire too.

After dinner they talk a little more, and Lindsey, or Linda, or whatever her name is, asks him about what he does for a living, and he puffs out his chest and proudly says that he works in finance, and it's worth that little truth-bending because she looks impressed. But Leon quickly changes the subject, because the kind of financial transactions he favors aren't exactly legal and he doesn't want to try to explain all that. So they start talking about the weather, and cats—Leon loves cats, it's dogs that make him nervous—and really, he's got a good gut feeling about this, he's feeling pretty good about his chances here.

A half-hour later, she invites him up to her room and he follows her like a puppy up the stairs, feeling like he's riding on top of the world, because there is no _way_ he's managed to mess it up this time, oh no. This time, he's kept business and pleasure _separate, _and he took extra precautions this time too—he'd spent the subway ride across town looking up Mandy, or Candy, or whatever-her-name-was on FriendZone using his cell phone, and then he checked the accounts of all her friends too, just to make sure they weren't old arch enemies of his or something. Just, you know, for his own protection. Leon hadn't recognized any of the names he had seen in the friends list, so he was feeling pretty safe.

They get to the bedroom, and Leon's feeling a little too warm underneath his wrinkled shirt, so Patty or Jackie or whatever her name is helps him out of it. She starts talking dirty, and he starts talking dirty back, and he's not sure what happens but a few minutes later he's lying on her bed, wearing only a pair of boxer drawers that aren't doing much to hide his excitement, because his ankles are tied to the bedposts and Cindy—is it Cindy? He's too excited to think much about it—has handcuffed one wrist to the headboard and is even now ratcheting the other cuff shut. Cindy—let's just go with Cindy—is wearing her scarlet bra and panties and nothing else, and there's something kinda feral in her eyes, and Leon is _so_ pleased with himself he doesn't notice for a few seconds that someone else has just come in the room—a bald guy with tattoos and bicep muscles that are _way_ too beefy.

_Robber_, Leon thinks hazily, and he opens his mouth to warn Mandy—no, Cindy—but the woman has already turned to greet the intruder.

"He's all yours," she says, and Leon wants to groan, because _damnit_, he'd been so close, and now he was going to have to figure out how to explain this to John, because John was going to rescue him, right? That's how these things worked out. Leon got in trouble; John got him _out_ of trouble and ominously implied that _next_ time would be the last time he'd rescue Leon, but it never was.

He can't help but feel a little betrayed by the woman.

"C'mon, Candy," he says. "Help a guy out!"

"It's Melissa," she says coolly, and she walks out the door.

The tough guy walks up to the bed while Leon is frantically trying to figure out which of his clients he might've pissed off within the past week, and oh _yeah_, the foreign guy with all the money in the BitCoin wallet. Leon had hoped the guy would've taken a little longer to notice_._

"Hey, look man," he says. "I almost got the money back, okay? It'll just take another day or two—"

The man reaches into a duffle bag and pulls out a—oh, _shit_, that's a taser, isn't it? That is _so_ a taser. The guy clicks the switch, and electricity arcs between the electrodes.

"I am unhappy with you," the guy says with some thick accent, Russian, or Spanish maybe, Leon can't really tell the difference and it doesn't matter because either way, it's _bad_. "You are dead man."

"Maybe we can come to an agreement?" Leon says hopefully.

"Yes," the man says, and Leon breaths a sigh of relief. "Santa Clause is fake, da?"

"Uh—da! Yes! Santa is one-hundred percent fake, man. Total urban legend."

"We agree. Good." The guy grins, and Leon realizes that this is going to thoroughly suck. Reaching into the bag, the guy pulls out a ball gag, a _pink_ one, and he says, "Open wide—"

Only he doesn't get a chance to say anything more, because all of a sudden Mr. Unhappy is down on the floor clutching his knees and there's someone else in the room, a petite woman who's holding a pistol as casually as most people hold a cell phone. She's got brown hair and a leather jacket and tall black boots, and _dayumn_, the look she's giving Leon makes his boxers rise again.

"You know," he says, grinning, "I don't mind being tied up a while longer."

"Okay," the woman says in a voice that is entirely too disinterested. She turns and heads for the door. The grin on Leon's face slips as he realizes that she's taking him literally.

"Wait. Wait, wait!" he says, yanking on the cuffs. "I was kidding!"

"You didn't sound like you were kidding," she says. She's almost at the door, and she has her arms crossed, and Leon gets the feeling that she's about to leave him here.

"I'm kidding, I'm kidding," he says. "C'mon, let me out of here!"

"Why?" she asks.

"I—er..." Leon doesn't really have a response for that. "I'll...give you a level 90 mage on World of Magic?"

"Do I look like I play World of Magic?" She chews the inside of her lip, then walks over to the bed. She pulls out a knife, and Leon flinches, but she's just cutting the ropes binding his ankles. A few seconds later, the cuffs are undone.

"You have about two minutes to get out of here," the woman says, and Leon scurries around the room like a little mouse, a _naked_ little mouse trying to collect his clothing.

"I can't find my pants," he whines. "Do you see my pants?"

"No," the woman says. She sounds bored.

He finds his pants and manages to dress himself, and it's about then that he realizes that he has no idea who his rescuer is.

"Who are you?" he says. "You're not John."

"John's busy," she says. "I'm Shaw."

"Well, um...thanks," he says. His heart is pounding and he feels lightheaded.

"Try to stay out of trouble for more than a day or two this time," she says, and she walk out of the room. Leon gapes and stares at the open doorway. By the time he thinks to run after her, she's gone. He passes Melissa in the living room. She's handcuffed to her own coffee table, and she glares.

"What the fuck are you staring at?" she says.

"Sorry," Leon says, gulping. He hurries out into the night. Sirens wail in the distance, but he doesn't notice.

He's thinking about Shaw.

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The second time Leon meets Samantha Shaw, Leon has managed to start a bar fight. He's not really sure how, and he doesn't really _care_ how; all he cares about is cowering behind the counter while things fly and glasses break and people scream. Someone's drink hits the bar above him and it shatters, showering him in cold booze and shards of glass. The front door is like, _right there_, just a few feet away, but he doesn't dare move, at least, not until a certain pair of tall leather boots steps into his vision. He gulps and looks up, and up, until he sees a familiar, bored, disinterested face looking down at him. Shaw's hands are on her hips.

"Six days," she says, even as a beer bottle flies past her ear and shatters on the wall next to her. "I think that's a record. Come on." She grabs him by the arm ("Oww! Oww!" he says. "Hey, be gentle!") and yanks him to his feet. She leads him towards the door. Doesn't even hesitate when a big burly fellow barrels towards them; she does something too fast to see, like a Kung-Fu warrior or something, and the big guy is suddenly howling on the floor.

Shaw doesn't stop dragging Leon until they're at least four blocks away.

"Daayuumn," Leon says. "That was pretty awesome. I mean, the way you flattened that guy? _Pow!_ _Ker-bang! _Oww!" Leon punches the air with childish enthusiasm, but hits a lamppost on the third try and he winces, shaking his fingers.

"Whatever," Shaw says. "Try not to die." And she walks away. He stares after her_, _he can't help it, because she is _awesome_, and she's saved his life twice now, and really, he hasn't even _thanked_ her.

"Wait!" he squeaks when she's almost to the street corner. He darts after her and catches up with her right as she's crossing the street.

"What now?" she says, keeping her eyes straight forward.

"I, er—you saved my life."

"Right," Shaw said. "I can change that still."

"Come on, I'm trying to thank you. Hey, how 'bout this—I know this _really_ good Chinese place downtown. Can I buy you dinner? I mean, this isn't a _date_, or anything, but—"

He babbles, and Shaw doesn't look like she's paying attention until Leon says the words "all-you-can-eat buffet."

"Fine," she says suddenly. "But only if you stop talking."

He does. For about five minutes, anyway.


End file.
